


quaint little place

by baneberries



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, Domestic, Fluff, Humour, Love Confessions, M/M, Steve Rogers pines quietly, Tea, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baneberries/pseuds/baneberries
Summary: “What brings you here?” He asked.Bucky sighed. “Only you and your unfairly handsome face.” He drawled lazily. Steve felt like his face was on fire. He was blushing right to his toes.Yeah, he was definitely on fire.





	quaint little place

 

Steve Rogers’ quaint neighbourhood was pleasant in a lot of ways.

There was Miss Franklin two houses away from him, all wrinkly and cookie bearing. Oh, and grinning. There was little Laurens who refused to say his first name and who always kicked footballs into his yard. There was smaller Tommy with his scowls and his silence. There was even littlest (was that even a word?) Dani with her cute grins and those even cuter crystals she’ll carry around with her.

And there was James from across the street with his demonic cat that always coughed hairballs and went to the bathroom in his yard.

Steve took pride in his immaculate garden, with its red roses that he sometimes used to make rose water and his small yellow flowers that he couldn’t remember planting.

There were other flowers there, but his roses— they just took the cake.

He was half buried in the soil, yanking weeds out of the ground and wincing every time he accidentally snagged a plant. He pricked the tip of finger on a rose thorn and winced, but his small gasp of pain was easily drowned out by the sound of screaming.

He peered at the rose he was tending to. “Was that you?” He whispers, his voice instantly cut off by another frightened scream.

He stood up and rolled up his sleeves. It might be a good idea to put an end to the shouting. But if someone was busy getting murdered, he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

The yelling was coming from the house across the street from his and he ran to the house and jumped over a fence, landing in the stranger’s back garden and opening the back door. He opened the door in front of him and was led into a large kitchen where a man was standing on a table, screaming his heart out.

The man had dark hair and unnaturally clear eyes which were filling with tears quickly. He was perched on the table with his arms (super muscular; interesting) wrapped around himself.

Oh, and he screamed some more.

Steve waved awkwardly. “So, what’s the problem?”

The man on the table didn’t have to say anything else and Steve instantly knew what was happening. A mouse dashed from in between his legs and ran in circles, squealing.

Steve fought the urge to laugh. A man who looked like that, all strong and powerful looking with biceps bigger than his head, screaming on a table because of a mouse.

He grabbed a broom from the corner and shook it at the mouse threatening. “ _Shoo_.” He said monotonously.

The mouse ran out the back door, squished itself through a large-ish crack in the fence and promptly got flattened by a double decker bus.

The man on the table let out a sigh of relief and hopped down from the table before allowing himself to flop onto the floor, somehow still looking graceful and only a bit put together. “‘M sorry you had to see that.”

Steve pressed his lips together, cheeks puffing out. “It-it’s fine.” He opened his mouth to say something else before bursting into laughter.

The man didn’t look very impressed.

“S-sorry.” Steve said in between puffs of laughter.

“It’s fine,” he waved a hand carelessly, still laying on the floor. “It’s what I would have done.”

A pause.

“You should probably get up now.” Steve added helpfully.

The man stood up slowly, brushed his hair out of his face and held his arm out, showing no signs of embarrassment. Impressive. Steve would have probably been as red as a tomato for a few hundred years if the mouse incident had happened to him.

“Bucky Barnes.” He says. “Well, my name’s technically James but everyone calls me Bucky.” So he was James from across the street with his demonic cat. He would have to watch out of it.

Steve takes his hand, trying not to stare at Bucky’s other metal arm. It would be impolite. Probably. “Steve Rogers.”

And Bucky invites him in to have some drinks and cookies and Steve says yes, like any sensible human being would.

A few days after that, Steve Grant Rogers is laying on the floor of his kitchen for a change while covered in flour, while his friend, Sam (who’s on the phone, on speaker) is laughing at him.

“—believe that Steven Rogers, master at cooking anything out of anything nearly _kills_ himself trying to make _cupcakes_!” Sam positively howls with laughter. At least that’s what he thinks Sam is saying.

His voice is breaking and only snippets are getting in. “—says she’ll kill me if I don’t visit her in Harlem.”

He has no idea what he’s saying.

“Y’know what, Sam?” Steve asked loudly, brushing some flour off his face. “We’re going to have to end this call. I can’t hear you at all.”

Sam paused. “—ure,” his voice is breaking. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Sam hanged up.

Steve groaned and used the counter to help him stand up. He flung open a cupboard door and grabbed the sugar bowl. His heart sank when he realised that the bowl was empty.

He’s going to have to do something completely ridiculous and something that might (will) make him look like an idiot.

The door opened. “Steve.” Bucky said, surprised. “You’re looking…uh.”

He sighed. “I know. I just need a favour.”

Bucky waved him in. “Whatever you want. Consider this payment for not telling anybody about the mouse incident,” he looked at him shrewdly. “You didn’t tell anybody, right?”

“Not a soul,” Steve said truthfully. “Uh, can I have some sugar?”

“You may have some sugar.” Bucky responded, the corner of his lip twitching.

He laughed when Steve face palmed.

“I’m guessing you were an English teacher at one point.” Steve said to him once he got the bag of sugar in his arms.

He grinned. “No, actually. But it annoys a lot of people so I do it a lot.”

Steve laughed. “Okay! Okay, that-that makes sense. Sounds like something I would do. Thanks for the…” his voice trailed off once he got a quick look at something behind Bucky. “What is _that_?”

Bucky turned around. “It’s tea.” He said flatly, confused.

“With _milk_?” He asked, affronted.

“Yes?” He shook the milk carton. “What’s the problem?”

“Bucky,” he started. “I think we need to end our friendship. _This_ ,” he pointed at the milk carton. “Can not continue. I refuse to allow it.”

He crossed his arms. “I respect your opinion. No matter how wrong it is.”

“The only time you put milk in tea is when it’s boba. Bucky, I’m sorry but that’s just facts.”

He growled. “Put. Milk. In.”

“No. Thank. You.”

Bucky leaned against the counter, still holding his milk carton. “Fight me.”

“It’s wrong, Bucky,” Steve said, exasperated. “It’s just _wrong_.”

Steve was prepared to end the argument but naturally, Bucky wouldn’t let it slide. In a cascade of motions triggered by Steve laughing bitterly, he spun around, took the cap off the carton and dumped it on Steve’s head.

Steve squealed and Bucky laughed.

And a week or two after that small incident, Steve Grant Rogers found himself lying on Bucky Barnes’ battered leather couch, damn near tears.

“I’m suing the company that made this movie for emotional damage.” Steve said, grabbing a tissue and dabbing it on his eyes. “Why aren’t you crying?”

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Bucky said flatly. “I’m immune. It’s like a vaccine.”

“Well, _I’m_ an anti-vaxxer.”

A pause.

“Really?”

“No,” he said, laughing while tears streamed out of his eyes. “It’s part of the joke.”

Bucky visibly relaxed. “Ah, well, good. I can’t stand the anti-vaxxers, though. Bunch of dipshits, think science is fake or whatever bullshit they’re believing now.”

“Infecting babies,” Steve sniffed. “Saying that vaccines cause autism or ADHD or whatever. If you’d rather have a dead child than a neurodivergent child, that’s saying a lot about you.”

Bucky clinked his glass of water against Steve’s apple juice cup. “ _Raise a glass_.”

“Hamilton,” He responded. “Did you know that I once met the guy who made the musical?”

“Really? How?”

“My rich friend from out of town practically knows every celebrity,” he took a sip out of his cup. “The musical guy is really cool. Really friendly. Overly friendly. Hyper. He once apologised to the crowd for not buying them all ice cream.”

“That’s… wild, honestly.”

“It is.” Steve turned back to the television then audibly gasped. “What is _that_?”

“My cat.” He tried calling the black blob in front of the television over to him but it didn’t move.

“That’s the cat that always shits in my rose bush!”

“Oh, really?” He only looked mildly interested. “Shame.”

“Shut up,” he said fondly before pointing at the blob again. “Can you move it? Please?”

“Him. His name is Mars,” he corrected, immediately jumping into defense for his demonic cat. He would probably insist it wasn’t demonic but Steve’s mind refuses to change. “And no, I can not.”

Steve frowned. “Why?”

“Well, for one, you’re sitting on my legs.”

He folded his arms defiantly. “Well, _I’m_ not moving.” He said, snorting when Bucky shoved his cold feet under his thigh.

“Okay,” he yawned. “Have fun not watching the movie. Have fun not knowing whether Patricia dies or not. I can quote this movie backwards. I know what’s happening.”

Steve stood up from the couch, pinched Bucky’s toes and walked over to the black blob. He poked it and it hissed.

“Be gentle with him,” Bucky called, rubbing the spot where he pinched him. “If you hug him, he’ll move.”

Steve lifted him up and dropped him on the floor. Instead of laying on the floor and doing whatever cats do, Bucky’s cat decided to climb up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Mars is clawing holes in my clothes.” Steve complained.

He yawned again. “Leave him up there.”

“He’s clawing holes. In _my_ clothes.”

“You can look like a white Kanye West.” He said helpfully.

“ _Bucky_.”

“ _Steve_.”

And a few days after that, Steve opened his front door only to be met with a grumpy looking Bucky Barnes.

“What brings you here?” He asked.

Bucky sighed. “Only you and your unfairly handsome face.” He drawled lazily. Steve felt like his face was on fire. He was blushing right to his toes.

Steve allowed him to come in. “But seriously. Why are you here? Not that I don’t like your company or anything.” He added hastily.

Bucky shook a mug in his hand slightly. “Trying something new. Want you to test it.”

Steve took a sip and hummed while walking to his living room and practically dropping onto his couch. “It’s good. What is it?”

A smile spread over his face. “Tea.”

Steve paled.

“With _milk_.”

“I take it back, it’s disgusting,” he pushed the mug back in his direction. “I don’t want your milk infested tea.”

“If you say so,” Bucky said with a sly wink before taking a sip of his disgusting tea. “I _do_ recall you saying that it’s good, though.”

“Only because I didn’t want to hurt your delicate feelings.” Steve sniffed.

“ _Sure, Jan_ ,” he drawled before brightening instantly. “Hey, what’s that?”

“That?” He asked, pointing to a pile of clothes in the corner. “My rich friend from out of town— the one who took me to meet Lin Manuel Miranda— he has a fancy dinner party and I have to come.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “It’s in a week and I still don’t have my plus one.”

It was now or never.

He took the leap. “Say,” Steve began nervously. “Would you be my plus one for this thing?” It was clumsy and ridiculous, Bucky would never say yes.

“Yes.”

“What, _really_?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Is this like a date or…?”

“Whatever you want.” He said quickly.

Bucky’s smile was soft. “It can be like a date. We can have that and see how it goes.”

“Sure.”

And somehow, Steve is completely surprised when Bucky Barnes leans over and presses a soft and delicate kiss to the corner of his lip. Yeah, he was definitely on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of feelings about this.
> 
> edit: half of this was inspired by a conversation with my friend with escalated. also, mars is inspired by t’challa.
> 
> kudos and comments make my day.


End file.
